


The End

by Cactus_Candy



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drama, Drama & Romance, Drunk Ford Pines, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Marriage, Mentions of Bill - Freeform, Neglect, Trouble In Paradise, dinner date, not a completely happy story sorry, science husband, science wife, spouse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 15:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cactus_Candy/pseuds/Cactus_Candy
Summary: There is trouble in Paradise in the Pines Family.  Where everything was once a pearlescent shining dream of union and bliss now tangles into itself like ferns, dry and dying.Was this really the end?--Alt: You, a gifted scientist and neglected wife of Famous Super Scientist Ford Pines finds herself questioning whether or not her marriage is worth carrying on.





	The End

You always knew when his eyes were on you.  
In that odd way like how particles knew when they were being observed through a microscope. You could feel them now. Yet you resigned yourself to keeping your own gaze down on your plate and taking another bite of your cold dinner. The dim lighting of the restaurant's cheap bulbs hurts your eyes and the choppy piano music playing live from across the room isn't helping any.

Without looking you know he has that stupid look on his face. That starry-eyed and love-sick gaze of wonder he got when he looked at you for a little-too-long. Finally cracking an eye open, you of course found your intuitions to be true.

“Do you mind?”  
Without raising your eyes from your food, you take another bite of the sad steak before you. It tasted just the way you felt, if that indeed made any sense.

Ford's bushy eyebrows raise on his forehead and he quickly sits up straight.  
“Oh! Um, not at all.” his voice trails off quietly at the end and he looks down at his own plate.

The next few minutes pass in silence albeit the awful piano still playing away, accompanied now by a badly-tuned bass. You had both come here for your first date years ago. Although charming (in a tacky way), the wobbly seats, mediocre food and stained red carpets made it very clear the old mare was losing her charms. And It would likely only be a matter of time before bankruptcy or the recession put the old girl down for good.

“How is your food?” He asks, breaking the quiet and you find yourself annoyed at this.

“Its food.” you hum, poking at your vegetables with a fork.

You wrinkle your nose and take one last bite of bland and watery lukewarm potatoes; trying your best to chew and swallow the mush with difficulty. You wince wildly, wiping your hands and mouth on the cloth napkin before tossing it onto the table top.

“I think the chef is drunk.”

Ford laughs at this and squares his shoulders, adjusting himself in his bulky seat. He seems to agree with you as he has barely touched his own plate of poached Mackerel, instead picking at the bread basket and his side of burnt mac and cheese.

“Probably.” he chuckles, but it quickly dies out when he sees that you are not laughing as well. Coming here had been his idea in the first place and you wonder if he felt bad about it at all.

He clears his throat and reaches across the table.

“More Brachetto?” The waiter had brought it earlier by mistake but Ford took it anyway.

He lifts the nearly empty bottle a little more clumsily than he probably meant to and its suddenly clear the Chef wasn't the only one who had “gone fishing” that night.

'Good. I'm not the only one.' you thought to yourself, slightly amused for the first time that long evening. It seemed he too had been nursing a few drinks before dinner, perhaps even more than you.

“No thank you.”  
Your silky tone stops him in his tracks and he stares for a moment before awkwardly pouring himself a new glass. (Something he probably did not need.) It gets quiet again until he breaks your taped-together bubble of serenity once more.

“You look lovely tonight.”

The urge to roll your eyes is strong. You take a long sip of your watered-down cocktail, taking your time to chew the bits of fruit and ice before answering.

“Thank you.” You say with faux pleasantries in your best customer-service voice. The one you used to get the dumber-but-higher-ups at your old lab to give you more funding for projects.

“How was your day?” Relentless, he rests his hands in his lap and twiddles his thumbs.

“It was fine.” your answer is short and curt. Stealing a quick glance of him, you swore you caught the look of sadness in his face as he reaches for his wine glass.

For a moment you feel bad or like some kind of bitch. All night you had been like this. But you couldn't stand the familiarity, the audacity in his voice each time he spoke or asked you a question. How he so simply pretended that everything was okay between the two of you even though it was all on fire and falling down from the ceiling. How you longed to tell him exactly how you really feel.

He catches your gaze on him and those blue eyes light up like Autzen Stadium on Superbowl Sunday. You inwardly chastise yourself for staring too long, quickly looking away to continue your stony exterior of not caring about anything. You imagine yourself as an evil queen living in a icy castle covered in thorns.

“This is nice. Just you and me. Thank you for joining me again.” He pushes his plate to the side gently as he speaks.

You again nod, finishing off the last of your drink. You had hoped it would help wash the horrible taste from your mouth as well as quell the molten anger you could feel now bubbling up inside your chest.

You promised yourself you wouldn't get upset. Not tonight. After everything that had happened these last few months and all that you had gone through, you just wanted to try and enjoy a night out of the house which by now felt less like a home and more like a prison.

But you must not be hiding your anger well enough, for now he is staring again. This time with a look of concern and it boils your blood even more.

“Is something the matter?” His left hand twitches as if to move and grab yours. He stops himself but frowns when you pull your hand toward yourself anyways.

“You already know the answer to that.” Your words are quiet, but a hatchet nonetheless. Quick and sharp, it flies off your tongue before you can stop yourself from throwing it.

Seeing the way his eyes widen, you hesitate and even feel a little remorse. But you had to remind yourself that you had been holding all of this and your feelings in for a very long time. Too long, and you weren't going to stuff them down any longer. Not for anybody and especially not for him.

His thick eyebrows knit together and an unreadable look crosses his face. At first he says nothing, reaching for his wineglass. His fingers curl carefully around its thin crystal stem as he lifts the rim to his lips.

You hadn't notice it before but he'd cut himself shaving. Even now his six fingers slightly shake as he sips from his glass and it strikes you he must be drinking to calm his nerves. Something that wasn't like him. All those times he had scolded Rick and Stanley for keeping flasks on them while on the job made you question for a moment if the man sitting before you was even your husband at all.

He was sweating profusely despite the cold air of the restaurant. The tarnished gold ring on his left hand glinted in the bad light whilst he tapped his knee. It too bounced as he searched his chaotic but brilliant brain for the words he wanted to say.

“I know these last few months haven't been easy for you... Or even these last few years.”

Boy was that an understatement. Something about it touched a nerve. Now you wanted nothing more now than to tell him to save it, walk away without looking back and end this awkward night before it hobbled along into the gutter any further. But again with practised poise, patience and of course grace, you somehow manage to hold down the emotions inside banging and screaming to be let out.

“And? What's your point?” There is venom flowing with the words now.  
“Don't tell me there will be fruit next summer if you're not going to water the tree now.”

His eyes widen when I say that. I can see glimpses of their overpowering blue from the corner of my gaze. Having one of his own personal Proverbs held against him must be a hard surprise.

“I know we can work this out.” he starts and you've already heard this script many a time.

“This isn't our first Rodeo, Stanford.” This time you surely see the hurt in his face.

You knew this was going to happen. And still you agreed to show up anyways. Each time it was the same. He'd promise things would be different and every time you were let down and left to pick up the pieces. You'd always end up here, at this table and in this same peeling old seat and it all made you dizzy like Alice at the Mad hatter's tea party.

You are interrupted only when the teenage waiter appears beside the table to ask if the two of you would like the check.

“Please.” You almost spit the word out, swiping your glass of water off the table. Thank Axolotl. You didn't know how much more of this you could take.

“Um, yes. please.” Ford seems to have forgotten where we are.

He pats around for his wallet before pulling it from his jean pocket, shakily pulling out a shiny blue credit card. The waiter takes it and leaves us. Again we are left to fester in our own petridish of tense and anxious energy.

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.” I am the first to speak, shifting in my uncomfortable seat. “But I'm angry and exhausted and...I...” your lips and throat feel dry.

Could you really bring yourself to say it? You had to! If not, things would never change. They would remain the same for another 13 years and you would still be unhappy. You had thought this over many days and many nights. It was now or never.

“I can't do this anymore, Ford. I won't.”

He looks shocked at first, not moving or saying anything. He just stares the way deer do right before they are struck head-on by Pick-up trucks. Only when our Waiter finally returns from out of nowhere with our copy of the check, does he finally look away.

“Uh. Thank you.” He mutters to the young man without even so much as a glance. He puts his wallet and card away, waiting until he leaves to speak again.

“What do you mean?” He leans forward as if to hear me better.

He's fumbling with the salt shaker and other little things on the table- a boyish, and nervous little habit he'd had since was a kid. His eyes never leave mine, the dept of their pupils blown wide and searching me for clues and answers like radar.

“What I mean is-” You lightly touch the white mark around your finger where your wedding ring usually would be.

Both of you are thinking the word but neither of you want to say it. It was like a physical pain, a curse or a stitch. But still he is the one to say it first.

“Divorce.” He completes your sentence.

When I raise my gaze again, He looks as though someone had dipped him in liquid nitrogen. You might as well have told him Bill had been resurrected or something like that. But to him this was probably equally as horrifying.

At some point the music had stopped playing, Something you had not noticed until it became deafeningly silent.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading my Story! It started as a quick gift for CQ and turned into...well, this.  
> So I'm sorry for breaking your heart, I did my best to "bleed on the page." because we often forget some of the most significant life events aren't always sunshine, flowers and rainbows. The main music used while writing this piece was "From Time" by Drake ft. Jhene Aiko, and "On Hold" & "Soft" By Telephones. please give them a listen sometime to set the mood. :) 
> 
> And now I know you're dying to know:  
> "Is this really the end???" 
> 
> Stick around for the next and final* chapter to find out!!!! Until next time,  
> -CC


End file.
